


Crown of Cinders | DreamNotFound

by Meozzz



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Confessions, Count!George, Denial of Feelings, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, Feelings Realization, Gay, Internal Conflict, M/M, Mutual Pining, Prince!Dream, Royalty AU, Song: Cendrillon, are there other fanfics out there where george and techno interact, dreamnotfound, no idea how to use tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27723335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meozzz/pseuds/Meozzz
Summary: "When the clock strikes twelve, George, you shall pierce the knife through the prince’s heart, as you listen to the cry of the bell and the silent sound of flowing tears."A Cinderella he was,But his innocence was a façade.Cinderella was never a murderer.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Dave | Technoblade, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/Dave | Technoblade, Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Dave | Technoblade & GeorgeNotFound, Dave | Technoblade & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 54
Kudos: 238





	1. Chapter 1

The brunet lad sat silently inside the mahogany carriage, its wheels squeaking as they rolled on the rocky pathway. A pathway adorned with luscious roses on its sidelines. A pathway that led to his future abode.

His tunic was richly embellished. The embroidery was rich, and its lacework was lustrous. His hair, once with a messy fringe and often damp due to leaking rain water, was trimmed and styled into a simple glossy quiff. His eyes that once laid upon walls of grease and grounds of mud, was now accompanied with black-tinted glass goggles.

The brunet man looked outside the carriage window, imagining what his hometown would be looking like on this very night. Mucky, infested with rats, a revolting sight. He recollected those moments when he shivered in the cold winter with only the air coming out of the return vent of a certain building as his source of warmth.

Now here he was, riding through royal property dressed in fine clothing. He had landed himself on a wealthy district, where people of high authorities and a seat made of gold flaunted their power and riches. Pristine and neat, shining with embellished ornaments and exquisitely paved boulevards. It was a resemblance of the paradise he once dreamed of, when he was given the opportunity to rest on soft fabric and not experience nightmares for once, when he was given the chance to not wake up with an aching head and a stiff neck.

Carriages decorated with fancy golden knobs sat next to many of the curbs. He also dreamt of owning one, but that'll be achieved later, as a carriage that he borrowed from his master would suffice for now for the sake of show.

The carriage came to a halt as the security checkpoint was reached. The man eased a smile, as the security in dark ebony uniform approached the carriage door. "Your name and papers, sir?"

He confidently took out the forged documents he needed. A clever fictional kingdom, and an invented title.

"Count George Davidson of Brighton. Travel papers issued... November 1st of 1876. Ah, the prince’s escort for tonight." A guard nodded, as the other few continued to sort out the papers. With that being done, the guards allowed the carriage to proceed.

The wheels of the carriage gliding over the rocky streets were heard once again. As he got closer and closer to the palace, George could feel his hands perspiring. They were tightly grasping each other, trembling.

He was scared, but who wouldn't be? This was the task he had to pay in order to gain that title of a prince.

George imagined what his target would be like, how he'd act like, and how easy he would be to persuade. George assumed that he had never met him. The prince, Dream Trapienn, was apparently a very shy and timid boy. He preferred to be withdrawn from propaganda, and public portraits have excluded his face. His parents supposed that it was understandable, and convenient so as to protect his privacy and anonymity. Very few have seen the prince’s actual face. The mass knew only of his figure, and that he allegedly had freckles and green orbs for eyes.

But the kind of man the prince is will not matter. After all, there shall be no emotional attachment. George shall not hesitate to bring the prince's fate, whatever kind of prince he was. The mortal remains of a prosperous child tainted with his own crimson blood will not matter.

The son of cinders, relinquished and survived in the hovels, was granted the privilege to turn his fate around, in exchange for turning another's fate as well. 

The man carefully adjusted his goggles, before dusting off his already clean tunic out of anxiousness.

George had never attempted to kill before, but he knew well how to handle a knife with the training he received. He knew the amount of strength it would need to successfully trudge a knife through a human chest and into their heart. He knew the vital parts of a man's chest, where he would need to stab to do fatal damage and ensure a swift, lethal wound. Enough to cause a quick and quiet death. 

His carriage came to a final halt in front of the large marble manor that was before it. The carriage door was carefully opened, and for the first time, he landed his foot on what was considered by the society as decent land. He breathed noble air, and stood in front of a towering building that he has never seen before.

"The Count George Davidson of Brighton!" his hoaxed name was announced.

George’s guide, a man in a white bandana, led him into the large ballroom. He had yet to meet his target until tonight, but he knew the prince by the royal pin on his shirt and his white deceiving mask. A man about a few inches taller from him with the heels George was in, who possessed dirty blonde hair, wearing luxurious lime-colored trousers with gold hem, and a lime suit with bright golden buttons. That was his target.

“Don’t mess it up.” his raven-haired guide implored. George failed to verify whether the man was an ally, wishing for the successful execution of his majesty, or whether he was innocently imposing a perfect night with prince. To try and confirm, however, would be risky. And as such he paid no heed.

As he entered, the sweet sound of the violin echoed through his ears. He was amazed by the performers' talents, and how swift their fingers were as they precisely handled the bow, sliding it and gently pressing it against the strings. He thought of how lucky these socialites were, to hear the sound of strings rather than the white noise of the populated streets.

As the brunet lad strutted, his eye caught sight of a man who stood out from the crowd with such bright colored clothing. Like a rose among the thorns, he wore a white mask hiding those green orbs, mingling with his fellow aristocrats with a glass of wine in hand.

Target spotted.

\--- 

_A _time _in _the _past..._____

_____"A pity you are, lad. I'd imagine you'd be the talk of the ladies with a neat figure." A pink figure, which George assumed would be of high power judging from the fine clothing and crown he was wearing, stood in front of him._ _ _ _ _

_____A noble._ _ _ _ _

_____He never imagined a noble would actually talk to him, much less land their pretty eyes on a tramp like him. George kept his mouth shut and his head bent downwards, paying no heed to the man who spoke. He didn't want his looks of pity, or disgust, and deemed his statement as something offensive rather than a compliment. He didn't want to get his hopes up. He believed that stumbling upon a high-born human wouldn't change the current fate he received._ _ _ _ _

_____Silence was instilled in the air, as the nobleman waited for the peon's reply in the narrow, sooty alley._ _ _ _ _

_____The pink-haired man scratched his cheek as he recognized the situation._ _ _ _ _

_____Unhesitatingly, he took George’s hand and enveloped it inside his own. "My name is Technoblade. It is a pleasure to meet you." He grinned with sparkling eyes. In hopes of attaining the brown-haired pauper's trust, he wielded the art of deception._ _ _ _ _

_____The beggar sat there in shock, as he was not expecting the man of high class before him to touch him sullied, dirty hands so easily. He froze, before quickly retrieving them and giving Technoblade a look of suspicion._ _ _ _ _

_____"What do you want from me?" George whispered in a manner that lacked energy or vigor._ _ _ _ _

_____Technoblade knelt, so as to be face to face with what could be considered as his "adoption"._ _ _ _ _

_____"I want you to work for me."_ _ _ _ _

_____The sound of that was music to the ears of George. An offer, perhaps he’ll be granted the opportunity to work in a palace. Albeit, no one would really look for butlers or such on the streets. Whatever he’d use him for, George didn't care. Enduring pain for a little while was better than enduring pain endlessly._ _ _ _ _

______

___Besides, this was a chance that could only come once in a blue moon. If he could save up enough gold, he can place himself on the same platform as those of the middle class, and give himself a higher likelihood of ascending to the upper class. He could find _him.__ _ _

_____ _

____"S-so, I'll get paid?" he stammered.__ _ _

____"Of course you’ll get paid." Technoblade giggled, before leaning closer to whisper. "You can buy a whole palace with this job.”__ _ _

____George’s eyes widened. It sounded like a fraud to him. There was no way that a peasant was to be approached to do something that benefits him too much. He would be falling for a scheme. It was too unreal.__ _ _

____“It’s not the normal job you may be thinking of right now, though." Technoblade chuckled.__ _ _

____"Th-then..."__ _ _

____"Lad, I'll get straight to the point." Technoblade’s facial expression shifted to something much more serious.__ _ _

____"I want you to kill someone for me."__ _ _

____George’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of it. To kill? He had never imagined of doing such a thing to another person. Although, the price that he was promised to receive was something extremely large. He was starting to consider it. Whether it turns out to be a lie, George had to accept it. He had to.__ _ _

____Living in the slums wasn't easy work. George was tired of having to sneak inside shops and bakeries for a single loaf of bread, usually being caught and hit after, and having to endure the cold, hard ground of the alley. He didn't want to continue his daily routine of constantly scavenging for food, and picking up such small crumbs from the floor. He was tired of crying himself to sleep, then having to wake up with bulged eyes and dried tears that taint his sad excuse of a pillow. Self-pity led to self loathing that led to self-harm.__ _ _

____The thought of having to live a pitiful life has dealt too much to the once pure and innocent child. His eyes were clouded with nothing but the color grey.__ _ _

____Until suddenly, like a beam of sunshine that has peaked through monotonous clouds, Technoblade appears with an outstretched hand and a diabolical offer.__ _ _

____It had been a long time since he received help like this.__ _ _

____"I'll... do it."__ _ _

____Technoblade’s eyes glimmered out of excitement, and his mouth formed a fine crescent shape. "I'm so glad!" Persuading the peasant man was easier than he thought.__ _ _

____"I have a question though, who would I-"__ _ _

____"My sir, let us discuss that in the carriage." Technoblade offered his hand, after which George wiped his hands on his old shirt before shyly receiving it. George took a short glance at himself, before looking at the carriage in front of him. "Fine sir, are-are you fine with me tarnishing the inside of the carriage with my existence?".__ _ _

____Technoblade responded with a small smile of reassurance. "How else should I bring you to your training ground? Oh, and just call me Technoblade. Spare me the formality.".__ _ _

____George was confused by Technoblade’s pronouncement, but shrugged it off shortly after. He swallowed bile, before being escorted by a butler. Of course, the man refused his offer to lead him inside the carriage, for he didn't want to dirty anyone else. He set his grimy foot inside the carriage, with perspiration coming out and a quickly palpitating heart. Slowly, he sat atop of the chairs.__ _ _

_____It was comfy, so comfy. He wanted to lay his head down and rest his body on it.__ _ _ _

_____"We'll fix everything up. No doubt, you’ll turn out great." Technoblade asserted, as he entered the carriage and the coachman proceeds with leading them to a place where George can be molded into an effective tool and apprentice.__ _ _ _

_____\---__ _ _ _

_____"My lord, I must introduce you to the Count of Brighton, George Davidson. He promises to keep you good company for the night."__ _ _ _

_____George bowed as a sign of courtesy, hiding his smirk beneath his mask of tainted melancholy.__ _ _ _

_____"When the clock strikes twelve, George, you shall pierce the knife through the prince’s heart, as you listen to the cry of the bell and the silent sound of flowing tears."___  
_  
_  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Salutations! Thank you so much for reading. This story is inspired by the Vocaloid song “Cendrillon”. As a new account, I’m trying to get the hang of AO3, so the tags might be wack. Sudden inspiration surged inside me after YEARS. I have no idea when I’ll be able to write and post the next chapter, but I’ll work hard!
> 
> Anyhow, please leave constructive criticism in the comments, or point out any typographical error, for I really do acknowledge them. I’ll try my best with Chapter 2, I swear.
> 
> (P.S I was lost on what to use as Dream’s surname so I just went ahead and added “ienn” to “Trap”.)
> 
> —
> 
> Social Links:
> 
> Twitter: @meo_zzz  
> Youtube: Meozzz  
> Instagram: @meozzzinsta  
> Spotify, SoundCloud, and iTunes (because I try to make MCYT remixes too): Meozzz


	2. Chapter 2

“Brighton must be wonderful!”

“Indeed it is, my liege.”

The two strutted against the dance floor. The brunet’s lips were constantly curved into a smile since the beginning of the waltz, much to Dream’s satisfaction. 

George eyed his surroundings, looking for a familiar shadow that he was promised would appear, and yet he was able to feel the prince’s gaze locked on him the entire time. The brunet’s peripherals could undeniably confirm it, but he was unsure where the intensity of his stare was coming from. 

The fact that Dream didn't seem to know his next move on trying to keep the flame of the conversation going was imperceptible to George. The prince tilted his head to stare at the ceiling. He clicked his tongue and let out a small sigh, before jerking his head back down to look at those eyes, barely visible behind the dark goggles.

The prince’s dance wasn’t too bad, to George, although it was definitely lacking in some areas, which was evident by how the vamp of the brunet’s shoes have turned from polished to soiled. Courtesy of Dream’s shoe marks.

“I must apologize. Your toes must be red right now. Dancing isn’t really my forte, but I’d be glad to show you what I do expertise on. We can meet up another time.” the blonde chuckled, and George spied the redness on his cheeks.

He mustered a slight nod, trying to bury the fact that there won’t be “another time”.

“I would love to.” George responded. “I’ve heard that your highness was insanely skilled in combat, and strategy games such as chess. Would you confirm that?”

Dream smiled promptly, before shyly bending his head downwards. “The only things I’m good at in fact.”

George couldn’t see it, but he felt the smile on the prince’s face slowly shift into a frown. 

“I’m a terrible prince, amn’t I? I’m sure you didn’t expect me to be like this. An heir who refused to confidently make their face known, whose dance steps were insufferable, and a disappointment to his own father. I’m unfit to rule.” he feigned a smile to George, with a bit of loneliness and dismay he felt every day slipping through. 

In that drawn out moment, George cocked his head. He was well aware that the life of those who are well off were first-rate, but never perfect. He had always looked up upon the spotless clothes and bright jewelry of the countless citizens that walked the streets, and how they would from time to time laugh and grin. If the lives of the middle class were so great so as to have the freedom to pointlessly spend their time and their money on momentary commodities, then surely the kings and queens have it the luckiest. At least that was what George thought.

But after hearing what was told by the blond man, he quickly sunk those assumptions.

“There are times when I’d wish I was born into a poor family.” the prince added.

George’s gaped lightly out of shock, furrowing his eyebrows. George didn’t think too much of the prince’s past opinions, but now, his attention was all on him.

“I met a boy, once. You could tell by his soiled skin and ragged clothing that he lived in the dark, dirty parts of the alley. His mother was skin and bones. Dried lips, protruding cheek bones, and a weak voice. And yet at the time I met him, his eyes shined of hope. Hope for his mother. This boy was so full of the love I wish I had for the king and queen, my own parents.” Dream confessed.

It was a familiar story to George. He recollected those moments when his mother was still alive. He was yet to be a young teen back then. Their house was shaggy, and their food would usually only consist of brown bread and oats. On occasion, they could have small amounts of poultry. At rare times, he would smell the roasted meat and local vegetables wafting through the air coming from the nearby restaurant, but it was nothing he would trade in exchange for the current solace with his mother.

The house would then eventually submit to the affliction of an upcoming storm, leaving the two to resort in the streets, where his mother finally passed.

“If only that boy, as well as everyone in the kingdom, had the means for decent shelter and sustenance. It would be the kingdom that I have always dreamt of.”

George began to wonder if Dream’s fate instead led him to a normal life as a local dweller in the state, with good parents and lesser expectations … but he wasn’t supposed to even think about things like this. It shouldn’t matter who Dream would’ve been, or what he wanted. There is a target etched right on his chest, and it was George’s duty, and only duty, to hit that target.

But somehow he wanted to give him some reassurance … that would lighten his mood…

“See, you’re not a terrible prince.” George acknowledged.

Did he care what he felt?

The brunet shrugged the thought off. No, it was just his innate compassion. That was all.

But it did make the prince smile.

“You selflessly care for your citizens. You wish for a place where all are given the opportunity to live their life to the fullest, not just to those who were lucky enough to be born to and inherit great wealth and power.” he added.

“You don’t need to have the knack for such gratuitous and futile attributes forced only because of royalty tradition. I think that what you are is enough.”

The royalties often left a bad taste in George’s mouth. But Dream was different.

“You deserve to be where you are right now.”

“In your arms.” the prince teased. George found himself blushing to the retort of the masked prince.

“I’ll make what I stand for happen. Just wait until I get to the throne.” Dream smiled.

George felt a sharp pain in his chest after what the blond man asserted. He was a good heir, but it was pointless. He was an heir for nothing. It was the prince’s fate to die by the hands of a peasant.

But was George really going to murder what could have been the salvation of many of the residents and natives? Was he really going to kill a potential proper leader, who could change the lives of many, for a change in his own life?

A man so considerate, so thoughtful.

His mind wandered, and he began making up illusions of the bare face of a man, freckled and bright. Emerald eyes, perhaps soft waves of dirty blond hair… an eerily familiar set of facial features.

It took him a while, but George did abruptly cut off his train of thought once he realized that he was flunking something he’d trained so hard for. 

He. Shouldn’t. Care.

The next minute in which they continued to dance was spent in silence. 

Dream took George for a twirl, and in accordance to the dance, they switched partners momentarily.

George landed on the hands of a man almost resembling a shadow with his dark attire. It was a surprise to him that men were allowed to dance with hoods on. His partner looked almost like a demon.

“George Davidson, son of the soil, trained to assassin, yes?”

The goggled man flinched.

“Don’t fret. I’m on your side. We are watching you very closely. Look around.”

Darted towards him were many pairs of eyes. Eyes that, instead of being glued onto their own partners, were glued onto him.

He saw a familiar man in a white bandana. His guide. And behind him, standing on the dark shadows of the corner pillars, was a vaguely pink figure in a long red coat. It would have been hard for George to distinguish him, if not for the glimmering crown and his own goggles that were especially made for him and his god forsaken eyes.

The pressure that he felt beforehand was great, but now it was heaving, almost bursting at the seams.

“Be ready to take the knife I’m about to give you.” his partner whispered, as he briefly let go of George’s hand to gently bring his own arms down, clenching the handle of the weapon that was hidden behind his sleeves.

There and then, he took George’s hand once again and slipped the knife into his partner’s own sleeves.

“Make it smooth, and do it quick. You know what will happen if you fail to do the job.” the hooded man spoke softly, but loud enough for George to hear it clearly.

“Of course.” George affirmed.

“Death.”

—

“George of Brighton, I feel like I barely know anything about you. You’ve proven to be a wonderful companion for tonight. You must tell me more about yourself!”

The prince held a glass of champagne in his gloved hand, though he was yet to drink it. He was engrossed in a simple topic of conversation with the fraud of a count before him. George held a glass of his own as well, gently twirling the drink around as he tried to conjure a few made up stories and let the time to its job: slowly lowering the prince’s defenses and building up his trust in the brunet.

“So how have the former earl and countess of the Davidson household treated you?”

George had but a few info on his father. He knew not of his whereabouts, but wasn’t interested in finding him nor did his actions pique his curiosity. He didn’t feel the need to question his mother about it for as a young child he felt that it would’ve been offensive.

“My mother and father were lovely parents, and ideal members of aristocracy. They always posed as a good model for me since my early days…” he began to imagine how he wished his own life had gone. 

As if talking to a genie, he acclaimed a carefree life he could only wish for, and falsely bragged of the wonderful childhood and loving relatives he couldn’t have, and of the large playfields with green nourished grass that he had only ever stepped on inside his dreams. 

“I can say that I’ve grown well. I have many plans and dreams for Brighton that are yet to be taken care of.” 

“That’s great! Getting to hear these from you makes me feel like we’re on the same platform. You know, I’ve always felt like all our other fellow nobles have been drowning too deep into their dominion that they’ve forgotten the true purpose of their position.”

George always felt that way as well, and hearing such impiety against the governance coming from he himself who was part of the governance came as a surprise to the brunet man. 

Dream was the complete opposite of the prince he’d imagined while in the carriage a few hours ago. He certainly didn’t live up to the ill-mannered superior stereotype. 

It was a good thing, but burdensome for George.

For once in his life, George wished that a person had all the horrible traits he always abhorred. If only the prince were inconsiderate, and spiteful, and just immensely unbearable. Then things would’ve been so much easier for the brunet.

Why did he have to be so… endearing?

Why did he have to die?

Why, of all the millions of people that did not deserve their breath, did he have to be pitted into this dilemma?

Dream did not wish to be born into the upper class. He did not aspire to automatically hold a bounty the day he was born.

A bag of gold was all Dream was to all these henchmen and hitmen. But not to George, not after the past few hours.

The clock chimed, getting George back onto his feet. “It’s 11 o’ clock already. Time sure goes by quick when you’re amused.” 

George’s eyes widened, and without conscious thought, he made a small gulp. 

An hour before midnight.

Was there a way that he could get out of this situation?

Unharmed?

If he were to reject his mission, and throw away all of the hard work and training he’d teared and perspired for up to this moment, then the consequences were grave. The pink, pig-like man in a crown, along with his subordinates, would track down and kill George. Who knew how many other people worked for him outside of the men he already met during the event? A poverty-stricken man like him was no match for the experienced and cold-blooded members of this gang.

Then they would simply hire another man to assassinate the prince, and repeat it over and over until they achieved what they wanted. 

The prince was always going to die, whether you flipped the entire world upside down or not. It was simply his fate.

George cursed under his breath once he realized the state he was in.

This wasn’t what was supposed to happen… the brutal preparation given by Technoblade should have been enough to cast George of all emotions.

It was then that he realized how cruel the misfortune of life is.

Would it have been better if he just declined the pig’s offer back then?

“We must meet again! I have so many things I have yet to share to you.” 

George was not able to prepare for what was about to happen, for out of the blue, the prince pulled him into an appreciatory hug.

He felt his heart leap.

No, this wasn’t right… he wasn’t supposed to be like this… He’d expected that he would become this close to him, but it was all supposed to be a deception to ensure the prince’s downfall. George worked so hard to perfectly execute the plan, and yet in the end, it seems like it all didn’t matter.

The blonde man had been genuine with him the entire night, and he in return was simply there for all the selfish reasons.

Despite all his efforts to keep still or better yet pull away, George found his arms slowly wrapping around the blond man. His body was trembling, but George would be lying if he claimed that he didn’t want to be where he was right now.

The prince’s scent was mild, and he was so comfortably warm that the brunet could only wish that they stayed this way for the rest of the night. He tried not to imagine what it would feel like when this warmth would gradually fade, and not the sight of the mixture of lime and red while Dream’s body would finally lay lifeless on the carpet.

He burned this very moment into his head, and into his heart, so that he may at least be able to recollect all of it when the time comes that this person in front of him would be gone.

His mind was a mess. He had been so occupied of all the alternatives to his current situation, and Dream’s hug was not being of any help. The burst of feelings from confusion to pain dealt so much to George that he didn’t notice his sight blurring. 

He wasn’t supposed to be tearing up. It was just yesterday when he was so confident that he wouldn’t even acquire second thoughts of causing the prince his demise. The comfort of being enveloped within someone so parallel, he was never going to feel this again.

“Dream. Please…”

The pitch of George’s voice heightened.

“I’m not who you think I am-”

He froze as he caught a glimpse of the pink figure standing ten meters behind the prince’s back. His stare was cold, as if it were enough to clutch George’s heart to make the beats halt. He immediately pulled away from the hug after a second of realization.

“Wait, what do you mean?” Dream stood in confusion.

“I…” the brunet could feel a lump in his throat. His mouth was open, yet no words could escape.

Until he felt a sudden moist chill on his shoulder, when he realized that someone had spilled their drink on him.

“Oh, muffin!” the man exclaimed.

It was the hooded person. 

A lot of eyes shifted onto the scene between George and the two other men. To the crowd, it was a mere accident. They would turn their backs seconds after the incident as it wasn’t anything serious.

But George knew. It was definitely not an accident. And it was definitely serious.

“Oh my goodness… I would like to sincerely apologize.” the man in a dark attire bowed his head, positioning it right above George’s shoulder and next to his ear. A cold chill ran down the googled man’s spine.

“You have less than twenty minutes.” he whispered unto the man in goggles.

George’s head was still, but his eyes moved to take a quick glimpse of the clock that counted down to doom.

“Run.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually not sure how many chapters the story will take, but I know that it won't take more than five. The next chapter will be up next week, if I get the time. As always, your thoughts and criticisms are very welcome in the comments!
> 
> —
> 
> Social Links:
> 
> Twitter: @meo_zzz  
> Youtube: Meozzz  
> Instagram: @meozzzinsta  
> Spotify, SoundCloud, and iTunes (because I try to make MCYT remixes too): Meozzz


	3. Chapter 3

George could hear the prince’s voice calling his name, slowly going fainter as he ran further away from the ballroom.

He didn’t know what overtook him. Suddenly, his legs moved on their own and he found himself running away from the situation he was in. Where was he headed to? He had no idea. 

He would definitely be tracked down and killed a mile after he departs from the gates of the castle, so that wasn’t an option. 

His head ached.

He needed more time to think of his next moves, and he needed a safe and peaceful environment for that. Biting his lip, he ran through the empty halls in hopes of finding and thinking of a good place to seek refuge in with the limited time he had.

He took a short peek of every room as he sprinted past them, backtracking when he finds a good one that briskly goes out of his range of sight. After a quick look around and over his shoulder to assure that no one could see him, he burst into a small but promising lounge, hoping that it would buy him some time to collect himself.

After ultimately closing the door, he leaned against it and let out a sigh of relief while squinting his eyes shut. Slowly, he lifted his eyelids and scanned the whole room from left to right. It certainly looked like a cozy lounge. Bookshelves with compartments rested on four corners, while a large lime couch sat before an idle fireplace. 

The shoulder part of his tunic was still wet, as the hooded man was quite generous in wasting his champagne. He scavenged the drawers for a matchbox, which he fortunately found in a second, and lit the firepit. He settled on the floor, gently rubbing his arms while watching the fire reflect an orange glint on his body. Despite a source of heat, it was still a chilly night.

He took a glance outside the window to catch a few constellations, but no star showed itself tonight. The sky was in a gloomy mood as it murked in thick clouds and pitch black. You can say that the weather probably sympathized with George. A downpour can be expected this evening or tomorrow.

This feeling was eminently familiar to the brunet.  
He would usually be forcing himself to sleep through the frigidness of the night’s breeze at this hour. He would usually start a small fire with sticks or small branches that fell from bald cypress trees, or search the garbage bins for coal that the nearby food shops threw out. And then, he would wake up the next day to the smell of ash and cinders, and repeat the whole thing.

He learned to be independent as not a lot of people were willing to throw their pity penny change into the can of the poor brunet on the streets, even if that poor brunet was a child. Most of them would be too busy to acknowledge that he was there, or simply be repelled at the status quo of the impoverished like him.

If he could recall, there was really only one person in the span of his whole lifetime that showed absolute compassion for him aside from his mother.

—  
—

It was raining that day. 

The calendars were marked July, so it wasn't unusual for occasional thunderstorms and summer rainfall causing the sky to darken easily. The street would fill with a mass of umbrellas in a monochrome shade. If you looked inside that one dark alley in the middle of two bakeries, you would catch a young brunet boy shivering in the light breeze with soaked feet. Alongside was the boy’s mother, frail and sickly, as if her life hung on an insanely thin thread. 

The young boy tilted his head back, feeling resigned to another stomach-grumbling afternoon.

Sometimes, if it weren’t too cold, the young boy would be fixated upon the sight of splashing puddles, orange street lights, and moody clouds. He would eyeball the people walking past, mainly to kill time. He would sleep the rainy day away if he could, but the bunches of cardboard were too drenched in flood water for it to be comfortable enough to doze off on (not that it was fairly comfortable when dry to begin with).

In the late afternoon, he would watch the people as they depart from work and retreat to the warmth of their dry homes and loving families.  
It was the usual display.

What he didn’t expect that day was a visitor, or rather an intruder.

“Young sire!” the boy heard a faint yet loud shout of a man coming from roughly twenty yards away despite the white noise of rainfall.

Coming from the direction of the voice was another fellow young boy, appearing only a few years younger than the brunet pauper. Droplets fell and shook off from the boy’s dirty blonde hair as he sped to George’s direction. The closer he got, the more George could make out his appearance: 

‘Freckled, yellow-eyed, and dressed in fine yellow clothing… or are they green?’ 

It was definitely an interesting set of facial features to the young boy. It was also fascinating to him how fast this boy was able to run. The brunet’s scrawny legs could never. Perhaps the running boy had the benefits of good nourishment and daily food.

‘He probably has a large backyard to run a few laps’

George stared as he came up with more assumptions about the boy, unconscious of the fact that the blonde was getting considerably closer with every step. 

The actually green-eyed boy on the other hand huffed and coughed as he tried to take in his surroundings. Other than the clumps of civilians shooting him confused glances, his eyes caught a lean brown-haired boy sitting on the outer corner of a building giving him the same looks. 

Their eyes met for not longer than two seconds, before the blonde boy became aware of the potential hiding spot behind this stranger. He concluded that it was one of those dark areas in commoner streets that served as homes to rodents and beggars. He had read about these areas before.

It was a risk to seek refuge in it, but he couldn’t keep running for a whole hour, not in this weather.

After a quick peer over his shoulder and reckoning that the guards chasing after him are yet to turn a corner into his route, he finalized his decision.

Only when the blonde boy was literally three feet away from him did George realize how close he had gotten. He expected him to run past him, and he blowed a wish that this boy would be able to achieve whatever reason he was running for.

And he did.

Sending a shock that ran through the brunet, his eyes chased the sprinting boy who turned a corner into the alley and briskly pitted himself inside the damp box that George treated as his bed, and the brunet managed to register the fact that this boy was trying to hide.

The blonde boy’s green eyes glinted as he briefly poked his head out of the box. “Please hide me. You’ll be rewarded handsomely.” he whispered to the brunet across him, and once again resigned into the small cardboard bin.

George returned his stare to the west and could now make out a group of men dressed in metal and fabric, hastening closer.

It was most definitely a frightening sight for George. Armed men, with auras that threatened to squeeze you if you were in a foot radius near them.

He gulped and clutched his rug of a blanket tighter, constantly and quickly changing glances from the box behind him and the hostile party to his left.

He feared not only his life, but also his mother’s, temporarily asleep in a bed of concrete at the back corner of the alley. In the events that he would get caught and punished for serving as an accomplice to a stranger, he’d doubt that they would spare a woman related to him. These men looked like they reeked of power. He was used hiding food or objects from the owner he stole from with a rapidly beating heart, crossing his fingers that his small heist was successful. This situation was way worse, as he was hiding someone whose value seemed a thousand times larger than that of everything he’s ever stolen. And he wasn’t hiding him from some cranky bearded shop owner, he was hiding him from equipped and robust brawns.

George scurried over to the side of the box, sitting next to it and hiding it away from plain sight. 

He could hear the strong simultaneous footsteps getting closer and louder than the rain.

He pulled his knees to his chest and dug his chin into it, wrapping his arms around his legs.

The footsteps grew louder, and louder, and louder, until they finally halted.

They were right in front of him.

George met the gaze of the guards, and they locked their position for four long seconds before one of the men spoke. “Have you seen a blonde little boy around? He would be about this tall.” the voice was deep, almost domineering, and when he spread his hand to gesture the height of the boy, it looked like it could completely wrap around the brunet’s neck.

George’s eyes quivered, nonetheless, he tried his best not to break eye contact.

“I think I’ve seen one run to the east.” he gestured towards the further path of the main road. He was proficient at telling lies. He had to be good at it if he wanted to convince his previous theft victims that his hands were clean after all.

Thankfully, the men had no choice but to trust in the peasant boy’s words and buy it, and so they didn’t waste any more time and continued to run further in pursuit of their escapee majesty.

The footsteps became fainter, and fainter, until both George and the other boy were finally able to breathe with ease.

“So they’re gone?” the blonde boy peeked, to which George responded with a small nod.

The blonde boy enthusiastically jumped out of the box out in a sigh of relief “Thank you so much for your help! What can I do in return for you?”

George’s eyes widened. He looked at his mother, and then back at the blonde boy knowing exactly what he wanted.

“Food.” he responded quickly and briefly.

“Food? Oh… I have coins and a few paper bills, which can be exchanged for some bread.” the boy reached into his pockets and pulled out a leather pouch. Marked on it was some fancy crest, but George didn’t look too much into it. He was too engrossed on having this heaven-sent sustenance for the day.

“For personal reasons, I can’t be the one to buy food for you. So you’ll have to stand up and get some for yourself.” the blonde boy took George’s palm and emptied the contents of the entire pouch into the brunet’s hands.

While no one actually knew the appearance of the prince and couldn’t possibly deduce that the heir to the throne was roaming the streets instead of being trapped within the walls of the castle, the blonde boy still felt that his face had already gained enough exposure and didn’t want any more of that.

George, on the other hand, sat astounded. There were indeed only a handful of paper bills, but their individual values could buy whole bags of poultries. He felt like he had hit the jackpot meeting this stranger.

Thankfully, George was yet to obtain a bad reputation from one of the nearby bakeshops as he was yet to be caught stealing bread from it.

He hurriedly stuffed the money into his pockets and dashed to the bakeshop, getting his hair slightly wet from the rain in the process, but he didn’t even notice that. His head was fogged up with bread, tons and tons of bread.

“Yes, that would be all, sir. I can show you the money to prove that I can pay.”

The person tending to the shop crossed his arms in suspicion of George. Every other local shop owner would do the same if a dirty little boy suddenly set foot inside their store claiming to buy a whopping amount of loaf. George’s stomach didn’t completely take over his brain, as knew to not spend every penny in a single day. Yet, he can buy a dozen loaves and still have something left in his pockets.

“I found them in the garbage. Someone must’ve accidentally thrown them away.” he lied, for he knew that the whole story of another boy his age, whom he only met today, providing him with this much cash would sound far-fetched.

After an eyebrow raise and a small pause, the owner shrugged and finally caved in. No matter where this boy got the money from, he was still going to be paid enough in the end. The amount of cash he would receive was enough to pay the bills, he would have to be prideful or crazy to say no.

-

“Here, here… eat it all up.” George broke the piece of bread in half and hand-fed one to his mother, immediately shoving the other half into his own mouth after. It’s been a long time since they got to eat properly like this.

“You eat together often?” 

“Well, when we have food.” George responded in a muffled voice due to a full mouth.

“Must be nice.” Dream mustered a quick small smile before turning his face back towards the streets.

“You probably have the most scrumptious meals with your family. That must be nice as well.”

Dream’s eyes met the ground. He took a big breath and exhaled promptly. “Scrumptious meals? Yes. With my family? Not too often.” he replied while still observing the streets.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” George bent his head down. “You can eat here with us right now, if you want? A gift of thanks, for buying us these loaves.” he offered the bag. “It’s guess it’s not like the roasted meat and fresh vegetables you’re used to, but at least you get to experience a meal where you aren’t alone.”

George had been looking forward to having someone to talk to, even for a moment, as he didn’t have many cousins nor relatives that he knew of. It was one way of knowing more about the world without a ticket to travel, of learning new things without having to pay for books, and of getting to know the thoughts of other human beings such as himself.

Dream turned his head back, and let the brightest smile stretch across his face. He had also been craving for someone to talk to after all, maybe one that didn’t always blandly reply with ‘Yes, you are correct your highness’ with whatever he said, whether it was truly correct or not.

“Thank you.” he remarked, and unhesitatingly helped himself to a piece of bread.

—

—

An abrupt shake of the door knob startled George’s thoughts. His head quickly and instinctively turned towards the mahogany door, and for a moment, he felt his heart stop.

He could see the shadow of a person from right underneath the door frame, and he instantly froze up. His stomach churned, and the cold spot from his shoulder suddenly seemed like it spread its chill to the whole body.

As much as he wanted to move and hide pronto, his legs felt weak. His limbs refused to cooperate, completely immobilized by fear.

He was helpless at that moment, and although he had a knife hidden in his sleeves, he doubted whether he would even be quick enough to deal a blow to the person turning the knob. He was well aware that he would be no match to Technoblade, or any of his accomplices. They were way more experienced and far better in combat than he was. 

He inwardly wailed, and prayed that whoever was behind the door would stop.

But of course, they didn’t.

George watched the most terrifying sight: the door gently creaking open, and the light from the outside hallways gently seeping in as the gap grew wider.

“I found you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I was going post this chapter last week, but I had a horrible migraine for the last two days and was massively unmotivated because of it. It’s only been a day since “last week” though, so maybe I’m given a pass for tardiness?
> 
> Also, the writing flow of this chapter is probably weird since I’m still not completely over this headache, but the good news is that I’m finally on Christmas break so I think I can finally devote the time for a good update schedule (not that the story has many chapters left oop)
> 
> Anyhow, constructive criticism is always welcome! Thank you to everyone who has been reading so far. I’ll definitely have the next chapter up by next week.
> 
> —
> 
> Social Links:
> 
> Twitter: @meo_zzz  
> Youtube: Meozzz  
> Instagram: @meozzzinsta  
> Spotify, SoundCloud, and iTunes (because I try to make MCYT remixes too): Meozzz


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d like to thank everyone for their patience! This chapter was out later than expected because I’ve been working with nine other people on a Minecraft Manhunt Medley! Weeks were spent on this music collaboration, so I would really appreciate if you head over to Twitter to follow me (@meo_zzz) or the organizer @jumpingjuniimos to be notified when it premieres (by Dream’s words, it’s free, you can always unfollow right after)! It’ll be uploaded in less than twelve hours, don’t miss it!
> 
> You may now proceed to read Chapter 4.

“I found you.”

His eyes grew wide at the site of a lime tunic on the other side of the door, and a white mask that slowly revealed itself shortly after.

“Dream…”

“I’ve been looking all over for you! What got into you? Why did you run away?” you could hear a mixture of relief and confusion in the prince’s voice as he ran and reached for the brunet’s hands, enveloping them inside his own.

“O-oh..." George swallowed, still unsure what to do with himself and almost unbelieving that the horrid feeling he had only seconds ago turned out to be a false alarm. If there was one person alive whom he wished appeared behind that door, it was Dream, and he could almost cry seeing it come true.

“Nothing too important. I think I just got embarrassed and acted on the spur of the moment.” it pained him that he was still trying to uphold this lie. It hurt that up to this hour, he still forced himself to try to slow down, to keep any hope from growing, to banish any thoughts about the prince that involved anything dreadfully beautiful. 

The alone time George had was enough for him to comprehend that this was a prince, a wealthy man, heir to the throne, and everything he wished he was. Even the arguments he tried to make as his mind warred over the label he had put on Dream about how he was the kindest person did nothing to stop that.

How would this prince react after discovering that his partner for tonight only showed himself with the intent of murder? Even if George tried to convince him that he didn’t want to push through with the assassination anymore, the news would still without a doubt trudge a needle through Dream’s heart. The prince would never look at him the same way again.

And what would his thoughts be after he grasps the fact that George was not the royalty he claimed to be? That he’d been sleeping on a bed of cinders the whole year? And that there was actually a time when he genuinely wanted to kill the prince for his own wealth? What then?

After a moment of suffocating silence, the man in goggles tried to speak once more in a strained voice.

“Dream?”

“Hmm?”

“What do you think I am?”

The clouds broke into hard rain as the two knelt before the fire.

“What do I think you are? You’re George, Count George of Brighton. While the past hours weren’t enough for me to take in everything about you, I know that you’re an important person. You’re very kind, and sweet. You’re beautiful, you’re smart, you’re kind, and you’re wonderful.”

That was all he could expect the brunet to be. 

“Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.”

‘I don’t deserve to be perceived so highly of’

“What about me then?” Dream returned the question. “What do you think of me?”

George parted his lips, trying to hide his loss for answers.

“I..”

It had been a long time since someone had looked at George this way: endearingly and understandingly. But the pressure in his chest still did not disregard the fact that despite a total of hours of talking, he barely knew fifty percent of the prince.

“I… don’t know.”

God did he want to know more about him, though. If only time would spare him some pity, and let him stay longer with someone who finally understood him in the midst of this big world, even if it was only for one more day.

“You don’t?” the prince made a visible frown. “Why-why not? Did I do something wrong? Maybe something that offended you?”

“No… your highness…”

He pursed his lips.

“You did nothing wrong. Nothing.”

He slowly shook his head from left to right dismissively.

“It’s me. _I did something wrong.”_

_The clock rang._

_George instantly looked up to check the time, but found it hard to distinguish the numbers. Everything was blurry, and if not for the prince carressing the tear that slid down to his damp cheeks, he would not have realized why._

_He immediately rubbed his eye, whisking away every droplet, before averting his eyes back onto the clock_

_‘11:55’_

_Five minutes before midnight. George had exactly five minutes to murder Dream._

_His mind collapsed into panic. Chaos stirred within him and he started to breathe rapidly and irregularly. His chest felt heavy, as every part of his body seemed like they were about to fall in a state of malfunction._

_He squinted his eyes and curled his hand into a tight fist, almost causing his fingernails to stab through his palm and wound it. He found it harder to breathe with every following second._

_“Your highness, I’m sorry… so, so sorry-“_

_His words were cut off by the prince quickly sliding into his embrace. Whatever it was, the prince wasn't upset, not in the slightest._

_The brunet had yet to raise his arms to return the embrace, simply lying limp. But he knew he wanted to. He knew he wanted to, so bad. This embrace was just as warm as the first one back in the ballroom. Their chests were stuck to each other, and George could hear and feel Dream’s heart beating just as rapidly as his._

_The heavy feeling in his chest instantly vanished, replaced by loud palpitations._

_He had realized when he started gathering second thoughts, when he knew that he craved for his embrace, when he felt Dream’s eyes gleam at the sight of him, when it made him flustered yet gave him the feeling of safety... It was then George realized that he had fallen in love with the prince._

_He was frighteningly aware of this fact, and he needed to back up right now or else who knows what would happen to the both of them._

_He had done so much for George, whether he realized the extent to which he had done so or not. The brunet wanted to imagine what it would’ve been if he was never given the opportunity to meet Dream, and after relentless denial, he finally accepted that he was glad he did. Perhaps there was a twinge of guilt in his gut at the thought that he would have rather met him some other way, but the chances of those were slim._

_The clock rang again._

_‘11:56’_

_After all, he was a peasant, and he was a prince. This would have been one of the only ways for them to meet, and whatever the other ways were, they probably carried the same ill intention._

_It was their fate, and fate can sometimes be cruel._

_It was George’s fate to kill the prince, and what could he do to change fate? He was but a lonely oaf, stuck in a nightmare situation._

_“You made a mistake? It’s fine. We’re all human.” Dream assured the brunet, unaware of just how grave his mistake truly was._

_‘No… it’s not fine…’_

_George gritted his teeth._

_The clock rang. ‘11:57’_

_How long has it been since Technoblade picked George off the streets? How many weeks had it been since the first time he made an attempt to swing a knife? How many days ago was his last training? All those hours of sweat and pain, would all go to waste if his hesitation decides to take over him._

_‘11:58’_

_Two minutes. They’ve been sitting in an embrace for three whole minutes now. George needed to make a choice, and although this one would definitely leave a permanent scar on his heart, it was, in the end, what he was meant to do._

_‘11:59’_

_George slowly lifted his trembling arms, finally returning Dream’s embrace. He rested his head on the blonde boy’s shoulder as he slid down the knife from underneath his sleeves and clutched it tightly._

_The rain grew louder._

_“George?” his voice was almost disarmingly soft._

_“Yes?”_

_“I love you.” the prince’s declaration was impulsive, but he knew with his whole heart that he meant every word._

_It caught George off guard, but…_

_“Dream…” George sniffed as he tried to hold back the tears. “I love you too.”_

_“Clay. My real name is Clay.” Dream stated, wanting to hear those words come from George’s mouth again. He wanted him to call him by this name, not by the alias that was given to the public. He wanted to hear the very words ‘I love you, Clay’._

_It was a painful, last wish._

__‘Clay…’_ _

__They heard the final toll of midnight, and the prince gasped as he felt something sharp dig into his back ._ _

__Dream’s eyes grew wide in horror. The last thing he felt was the embrace of his own murderer, whose countless tears fell to his shouder. His body started to go weak as he fought his eyes from trying to shut._ _

__Why? Did he fall into a trap? He set his guard down with so much trust that it caused his demise? He held such a large admiration for George, only to receive this in the end?_ _

__Was it all a lie?_ _

__The brunet shook his head, refusing to believe that he actually managed to do the very thing he dreaded. His hand flew to his mouth, trying to stop the sound of whimpers._ _

__He continued to wrap his arms around Dream tighter, still pressing their chests against each other as George counted the blonde man’s remaining heartbeats._ _

__He remained like this, crying and praying to whatever gods that bothered to listen through the sound of rain that time would stay still and let him forever feel the prince’s warmth while it hasn’t faded yet._ _

__A few days ago, he would gain excited thoughts of finally feeling the relief of wealth. He imagined the biggest sigh of accomplishment after he pierces the blade, drenching it in royal blood. He imagined the heaps of bounties and rewards that would finally fill the longing deep inside him that was there for years._ _

__But none of the feelings he thought he would acquire came._ _

__Not even a single ounce._ _

__He had never expected anything from the man in a white mask, from the man whom he assumed was like every other person who seeked selfish comfort from the status quo. George’s own promises that were supposed reassure him that he didn't care about how the blonde man spoke, and what he spoke of… he broke all those promises. He never expected to care about his touch, his embraces, and the smile that he can make out from the voice behind the mask._ _

__In the past few hours, George managed to grow stupidly fond of this man._ _

__But they still had to bid each other farewell. There always had to be a goodbye to everything._ _

__The fire continued to create a veil that glowed around the men, a merged shadow of two bodies, and the rain remained loud and roaring._ _

__The brunet, with his bloodied right hand, gently took off the blonde man’s mask._ _

__He wanted to see, even just once, even just now, and never again for the rest of his life. He wanted to see the rumoured green eyes, the unique freckles, the face that of the soul that he loved._ _

__And there it was._ _

__His eyes finally landed on the face that was kept from everyone for about two decades. The pink lips that were once able to curve into beautiful smiles, he finally saw it. The cheeks that used to brighten in reddish hues, the lashes that batted from enthusiasm, it was all there._ _

__And upon realization, George’s whimpers quickly turned into strong wailings of grief. He screamed all the words and curses that his mother once forbade him to. His voice was loud and deep, like the frequent thunder that rolled across the sky. His heart stung, and shivers fell down his spine._ _

__It was an absolute meltdown._ _

__“Hey…” the blonde man struggled through his last breath. The word was barely a whisper, but George looked at him with so much intent, with eyes so wide._ _

__“At least… you got… to meet…” his words slurred as his eyelids slowly surrendered, but he mustered the strength to point his index right at his own face._ _

__“...me.” his fingers gave up and branched out, and his hands made a thump as it fell to the floor._ _

__It was then that George confirmed that it was all over. He held his head towards the ceiling and screamed. He screamed, to the top of his lungs, with no regards to his throat. He wanted to let it all out. If anyone was ever around to hear it, he didn’t care anymore._ _

__The prince is dead._ _

__And it was by his own hands._ _

__The brunet gently laid the lifeless body down, the blonde’s blood scattered through the carpet floor. The heat of the fireplace was the only thing that dealt warmth to Dream’s body now. His crown, what would’ve been replaced with a larger one had he not met George, was now trashed and tossed into the burning logs of wood. A dainty tiara that once stood on the head of the powerful, now lied down on a bed of cinders._ _

__George gripped and took off his goggles to wipe his tear-stained mess of a face. "Sorry.” he whispered, desperately trying to get rid of the tears that kept forming in the corner of her eyes._ _

__“You once told me you’d bring me to the castle. And that I’d get to interact with a lot of people then. I guess, technically, you really did.”_ _

__He ran his fingers through the man’s blonde hair and down to his cheeks. He went further down and lifted the dead man’s arm, which was heavier due to loss of oxygen, and kissed it. It felt cold against his lips, but he didn’t want to let go._ _

__“Thank you, Clay.”_ _

__As much as he didn’t want to, he still knew that he should._ _

__None of the things he wanted were the things he was assigned to do. The whole night was just horrific chaos that damaged George’s mind._ _

__He looked back on everything that occurred, wondering what would’ve happened if he had done things differently. He wondered the consequences of deciding not to kill Dream, of not running away, and the very root of it all, not accepting Technoblade’s offer._ _

__But whatever he assumed would’ve happened, it didn’t matter now, did it?_ _

__What’s done is done._ _

__Sometimes, the world really isn’t sunshine and rainbows, not even for the “privileged”._ _

__Of course, on the other side of the hallway were men that indisputably heard the loud shrieks of the brunet that came from a certain room._ _

__Loud footsteps rang within the halls as the men panickedly looked for the source of the voice. They barged through every nearby room until they finally came across the lounge._ _

__Massive shock overwhelmed them as they caught sight of a blonde man, presumably their heir, drowning in his own pool of blood. The window had been broken, and the killer had already fled. A few stood frozen with their mouths ajar, while the others immediately zoomed to find the wardens and all the authorities that they could find._ _

__As the entrance of the room gradually flocked with more and more people, the palace guards scoured every nook and cranny in hopes of finding something, anything that would help them figure out who caused the prince’s demise._ _

__They were met with nothing, except for one single thing._ _

__All that was found was a single pair of glass goggles._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next and possibly last chapter will be uploaded in less than twenty four hours from now. I might or might not revise some chapters that I feel could use some improvement.
> 
> Anywho, a huge HUGE appreciation to every reader of this story! I’ll see if I have enough creativity left for more fanfictions in the future. I love you all <3
> 
> -
> 
> Social Links:
> 
> Twitter: @meo_zzz  
> Youtube: Meozzz  
> Instagram: @meozzzinsta  
> Spotify, SoundCloud, and iTunes (because I try to make MCYT remixes too): Meozzz


	5. End

The halls filled with gasps and panicked screams.

The event had taken a full turn. Every aristocrat that once walked and ate like polite ladies and gentlemen had forgotten their manners and morales and began to hysterically push everything and everyone in their way, trying to escape unharmed. There was no way that they would keep up the well mannered act, not when their lives were at stake. 

Amidst the mass were the two guilty men in a bandana and dark hood. They nonchalantly slipped through the chaos, smirks visible as they watched hundreds of people fall into tears.

Meanwhile, the brunette had clambered to escape with a white mask clutched tightly within his arms. He managed to flee into a forest, with only the moon that hung low in the sky and the large glowing stars lighting his path.

His heels left marks on the wet soil and he found himself panting as he looked up to scan the heavens, wondering if Dream could see the position he put himself into.

His legs weakened as seconds passed. With heavy breathing, he came to a full halt, harshly dropping his knees to the ground and sobbing once again as he remembered how he made a fool out of the prince and himself. All the lies and promises, all the bittersweet embraces, it all led to two broken hearts. 

The weight of everything that happened to George began to press against his thoughts. For a moment, he could only think of the brief evening they shared where he twirled around the dance hall, the prince in his arms, and the sounds of the violins as the bows slid against the strings making up wonderful harmonies to suffuse the night.

He gripped the white mask tighter.

He couldn't deny the strength of his emotions that night that brought him down this path, and he’d known the second he’d chosen to end Dream’s life that there was nothing else left for both of them. There was nothing you could do for a dead person. 

“Was it worth it?” a deep voice came from behind George. The leaves on the ground wade a moist crunch as slow footsteps made their way to him.

“Do you regret killing him?”

George froze in place. He didn’t have to look back to try to discern who it was. He knew well whose voice it belonged to. He had grown familiar with most of the people who walked the training ground he found a home in back then, after all. He remembered he was told that an exchange of words wasn’t needed if it had only been a few hours after the killing, but he guessed that at this point he was just on a streak of breaking rules.

“I did what I came to do, Technoblade.”

The brunet’s tears surged and mixed with the droplets of rain that cascaded down his face.

He never once lost the feeling of misery he gained that hour, his mind was just filled with thoughts of calming himself down from that point until now. Now he was doing his best not to hyperventilate, avoiding the thoughts at the back of his head that told him to just end himself and everything right there, and maybe after that then he’d see his prince and mother once again. He so badly wanted to curse and punish himself for the decisions that he made.

“That doesn’t answer my question.” the man uncovered himself from the darkness of the woods and proceeded to stand firmly with a black umbrella in hand. “Do you regret killing him?”

George bowed his head lower. 

He averted his eyes towards the mask in his arms.

It was only that night, long after when he normally would have drifted off in the discomfort of battered cardboards beneath him, when he finally realized how despair truly felt. 

Did he regret killing him?

He recollected what it felt like to see the blonde boy’s eyes slowly losing their color right before his own eyes. When trying to recall the moment all he could remember was the feeling, the overwhelming sense that even if he didn’t push through with the killing, nothing was going to change for the prince’s fate. 

“I don’t.” he responded. 

“But was there really any other choice that wouldn’t result in my or his death?” he added, taking shuddering breaths as he tried to refrain himself from punching the pink man in the guts then and there.

The peak of his life’s dejection wasn’t the chilly afternoons he spent in that sooty alley. He already knew how it was to lose a loved one, and yet when it happened again, he was even more devastated. The daily migraines from the repeatedly shifting weather, and the routine of dried tears running down his face every morning was nothing compared to what he just had to go through.

The pink haired man snorted, not even bothering to hide his amusement. Hurt, anguish, he could tell that it was so hard for the hired peasant to get here. He wouldn’t deny though that he felt a tiny bit bad for the poor brunet.

“I suppose not.” the crowned man turned on his heel and walked back into the woods, leaving George with his mask and his recurring thoughts to remain within the dark forest.

—

—

—

“Why were you running away from those men, anyway?” the young brunet asked as he gathered clumps of medium sized branches.

“You can say that I escaped from a class session that I wasn’t interested in. Well, I wasn’t really interested in anything that was being taught in general. So I scrammed. I unfortunately caught the attention of the guards, though.” Dream sat perfectly still for the longest time, eyes staring blankly towards the streets in front of him.

“Oh? So you must be from the royal family then!”

Dream blinked twice, startled, as mild trepidation broke his thoughts.

“Oh, no no no… I, uhh, I’m just close friends with the prince. We take classes together, from time to time.”

That was a lie. The royal prince’s personal tutor is obliged to teach him and only him. But he knew that George knew nothing about the pleasantries and rules of the upper class.

“I see…” the cold wind claimed and embraced the two children as the rain became slightly calmer, but not completely. The young brunet hurriedly stood up to assemble a small campfire. With a dull knife that he managed to acquire while scavenging the garbage bins, he proceeded to cut up a fireboard. He continued to spin a branch between his hands backward and forwards trying to create friction between the two pieces of wood. 

“You know how to start a fire?”

The freckled boy watched as the brunet’s flimsy arms moved in such a quick manner. His jaw hanged in awe at how someone who was seemingly so young and weak could exert that much effort and pressure. It was unimaginable how tough the world was for those who strived for survival. It must have been painful to experience something like this almost every day.

“Yeah. It’ll take a while, unless you have matches with you.”

The blonde boy shook his head. He continued to study the long and arduous process, patiently waiting as the young George ignored the small cuts and splinters his palm was getting from the texture of the wood. 

Smoke became visible in a few minutes, and eventually with a little more perseverance and small blows, the wood flamed up. Dream gave a clap in admiration for the boy’s skill while the brunet gestured him to lean closer to feel some warmth and also to lean his body against the direction of the wind to block all the rain droplets from his angle that would reach the fire and extinguish it.

“So you’re friends with the prince?” the young brunet spread his hands forward towards the fire to warm them up.

“Yeah…” 

“That must feel awesome! Is he nice? Is he a good friend?”

“You can say that, yes. He’s nice. He wishes that he had more friends, though… than just me.” the blonde boy scratched the back of his head.

“Woah. I’m so jealous of you.”

The blonde boy’s eyebrows drooped along with his face. He didn’t know what the proper reaction was to that statement, whether he should be filled with pride, shrug it off, or refute it. Nonetheless, it gave him an unexplainable emotion.

“You know who I’m more jealous of though? The prince himself.” George added.

Dream’s eyes hastily moved from the burning fire towards the boy to his right, overwhelmed with a sense of curiosity. His ears were locked onto him and unconsciously filtered off all the background noises. It was as if the sound of the rain wasn’t even there.

“It must be nice to live in such a large, protected home, where you get to eat great food and are adored by almost everyone in the state. He can tell thousands of men to be on their feet, if he wanted to. He has his future set up for him. He got so lucky in life.” he made a heavy sigh. “That’s what I’ve read in the story books my mom used to get me, at least. “

Dream took a breath to say something, but when he saw the visible frown on George’s face, he decided to keep his mouth shut for a few more seconds. He eyed him, unsure. After a short minute, he intertwined his fingers together and rested them on his lap, making a short pause before clearing his throat.

“I don’t know, assumptions can be wrong sometimes, you know? Everyone has their own set of problems, whether they’re well off or not. I’m sure the title of a prince doesn’t automatically guarantee an easy life. The prince probably has a lot of responsibilities, given his power and ranking, if anything.” he replied.

“Ah, you’re right. I guess you really are close to the prince.” he continued to stare blankly at the fire.

“It would be nice if I got to meet the prince, like you. I know that that’s very unlikely, and probably the most delusional wish for a peasant like me, but I do still dream of it sometimes.”

Dream looked over at the brunet from his shoulder, watching as he fiddled with his thumbs and looking down at his lap instead of watching the glow of the fire. He resented the fact that this boy had not yet realized that his wish was just recently granted. He sighed, stalling a moment before turning to look at George and lay a hand on his shoulder. 

“You’ll meet the prince one day.” his lips curled into a smile. “I’m sure of it.”

George’s eyes glinted. He gasped as though a streak of light just crossed his path. 

“Wait, really? How?”

It had been his wish for years now, ever since those days when he and his mother would still have that ramshackle for a home before it collapsed. George as a sickly child could not run around the neighbourhood playing catch with other children. He didn’t have many friends either, or rather didn’t have one at all. And so he would sit in his bed, story books in hand, and he would fathom about the Prince Charming that always seemed to save the day, marry the princess, and ensure a happy ending.

“Are you going to help me enter the castle?” the brunet squeezed the prince’s hand tighter, wishing with every fiber of his being that it would finally come true.

They were far-fetched wishes, but the best wishes that a hopeful young boy should have, especially he they sat at the bottom of the social class pyramid.

“Maybe. Not today, but one day.”

In the darkness of the alley, his eyes gleamed of a beautiful green color, burning light from the campfire reflecting on his pupils. After a moment, George sent him another hopeful smile before clasping his hands where it laid on his shoulder.

“So we’ll meet again?” 

Dream nodded in reassurance. “Yes. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not even next week, but just be patient. I’ll bring you to the castle soon. You’ll meet the prince and possibly gain a friend or two.”

Just then, small slits of light beamed as the clouds finally dispersed. The weather had at last calmed down, and it came to Dream that he shouldn’t be out in the open for too long.

“Ah, I should probably get going now.” the freckled boy immediately stood up and dusted off his behind.

If he didn’t get back in time, news would probably spread that the heir has gone missing and might have been kidnapped, which would prove to be an inconvenience for Dream. The whole castle and nation will shake with panic if the news hit.

“Wait, I didn’t catch your name yet.” George caught Dream’s wrist and tugged on his sleeve.

“It’s D-“ his muscles stiffened and he abruptly fell mute after realizing not to expose that name of his. “Clay. I’m Clay.”

“Clay, you promise that we’ll meet again?”

“I’m sure we’ll meet again.” he smiled softly at him, nodding as he looked at the brunet in the eyes.

George felt his breath quicken, trying to fight off the sadness threatening to spill over as the friend that he made for the day was about to disappear into the crowd. He had been too caught up in the comfort of having someone to talk to, and when it was time for farewells, he just couldn’t help but be desperate. He waited his whole life, after all, sitting and staring meaninglessly into the crowd while he waited for a friend to make time be worthwhile. 

But alas, he exhaled slowly as he let go of the prince’s wrist.

“I look forward to seeing you soon again, then!”

His last thought as he waved goodbye to the fleeting freckled boy was the conviction that he would soon get to see those green eyes another time. And so the boy in the lime clothing threw his hood over his head once again, and ran away, clasping his hands and wishing that the opportunity will reveal itself soon.

-FIN-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll have to end it here! School's second semester is starting soon and I have to get myself ready, and yes, Dream is permanently dead :') . No revival potions squirmed their way into this one, no sir. A massive thank you to everyone who got this far! Writing isn't really my forte but I listened to Cendrillon again after four years and was just hit by nostalgia, so I wanted to experiment and do this. I actually wanted to end everything on the last chapter, so you can perhaps consider this chapter as extra. If I missed anything, if there are plot holes or typographical errors or any of the sort, feel free to leave a comment on it.
> 
> I am begging everyone reading this once again to check out the Minecraft Manhunt Medley we worked hard on. Two months were spent on it and we would appreciate even the smallest interaction. You can follow our organizer @jumpingjuniimos on Twitter and tap the link in her bio to see the full thing!
> 
> I hope that everyone is having a wonderful day!
> 
> —
> 
> Social Links:
> 
> Twitter: @meo_zzz  
> Youtube: Meozzz  
> Instagram: @meozzzinsta  
> Spotify, SoundCloud, and iTunes (because I try to make MCYT remixes too): Meozzz


End file.
